( anxiously, he peers around his shoulder, under his bent arm, following her with his gaze as best he can while he's appraised all the way around. honestly, he doesn't know what to expect. morga's a blunt woman—not callous, necessarily, but she sure as hell speaks her mind. he knows she's not one for cruelty, and that she's got a good heart, and that if she's worried that his feelings are fragile right now, she might not be quite so forthcoming about how bad it really is, but... she wouldn't lie to his face. she wouldn't butter him up just to make him feel better just for the sake of that alone. it's not that bad is a fair enough statement. that doesn't imply that it isn't, in fact, bad. just that it's not that bad. something he guesses he can believe in, even if he doesn't necessarily agree.

maybe it just feels worse than it looks who knows.

what doesn't feel bad, anyway, is the touch of her hand in places he himself couldn't have ever hoped to reach. the soft feathers between his shoulders, the back of his arm, the longer feathers on his wings. he shivers once or twice, rustling but not fluffing up. by the time morga has come back to stand in front of him again, wouldn't you know it? could it be? there's a blush under all that birdskin and fluff! the way he bites his lip is probably familiar, too. )

Surely you're not talking about me... how on earth could you still feel that way after all this time? After seeing what I've become?

( as if he doesn't consistently cling to his feelings well after he should have let them go, himself. psh, please. he's twice as bad. his argument is weak at best, anyway. especially when he's finally doing what he told himself not to do for the sake of his emotional stability and putting both his arms around her. )

That—must've been one unfortunate-looking man you settled for, then. Tsk tsk. Treat yourself right for once, won't you?